We are men.

Throughout history, we have always needed in times of difficulty, to retreat to our caves.

It so happens in this modern age, that our caves are fully plumbed.

The toilet for us is the last bastion, the final refuge, the last few square feet of man space left to us. Somewhere to sit, somewhere to read, something to do... and who gives a damn about the smell!

Because that for us, is happiness. Because we are men.

We are different. We have only one word for soap, we do not own candles. We have never seen anything of any value in a craft shop.

We don’t possess magazines with photographs of celebrities, with all their clothes on.

When we have conversations, we actually take it in turns to talk. We have not yet reached that level of earth shattering boredom and inhuman despair where we would have a haircut, recreationally.

We don’t know how to get excited about really, really boring things like ornaments, bath oil, the country side, vases, small churches, we do not even know, what, what in the name of god’s arse, is the purpose of pot pourri. Looks like breakfast smells like your aunty.

So please, in this strange and frightening world, allow us one last place to call our own, this toilet, this blessed pot, this fortress of solitude. You girls, you only go to the bathroom in groups of two or more. We do not pass comment; we do not make judgement, that is your choice. But we men, will always walk the toilet mile, alone.